By: Richard Connell

Rainsford hesitated. He heard the hounds.

By: Richard Connell

He knew his pursuer was coming.

By: Richard Connell

“I must keep my nerve. I must keep my nerve.”

By: Richard Connell

“Your brain against mine. Your woodcraft against mine.”

By: Richard Connell

“Invariably, Mr. Rainsford, invariably they choose the hunt.”

By: Richard Connell

“I had to invent a new animal to hunt,” he said.

By: Richard Connell

“I have but one passion in my life, Mr. Rainsford, and it is the hunt.”

By: Richard Connell

“He is a Cossack,” said the general.

By: Richard Connell

One patch of weeds was stained crimson.

By: Richard Connell

Somewhere, off in the blackness, someone had fired a gun three times.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Chaos!” moaned Lady Constance.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Just you start in joshing my poems and see how quick I’ll bean you with a brick.”

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“You seem to imply that I am some sort of a criminal.”

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Beetles. Always had a horror of beetles. Ever since I was a kid.”

By: P.G. Wodehouse

“Pals, pardner, pals! Pals till hell freezes!” cried Freddie, deeply moved.